Bedevilled
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Sam had to save his brother, and he'd finally found a way. It was a bad idea, Dean said, but Sam wouldn't let it go. After all, if their dad could do it, then why couldn't Dean?
1. Bedevilled

The idea for this one hit me so fast and so hard that I couldn't not write it.

**Title:** Bedevilled

**Summary:** Sam wanted to save his brother, and he'd finally found a way. It was a bad idea, Dean said, but Sammy wouldn't let it go. After all, if their dad could do it, then why couldn't Dean[Most likely a one-shot

**Rating:** K+

**Warning:** Spoilers for The Magnificent Seven

**A/N:** This is probably going to be a one-shot, even though I have ideas to expand the story. i really want to get my Halloween fic finished before I work any more on this one. Alert it if you're interested. That way you'll know if I decide to continue.

**Disclaimer:** The show isn't now, nor has it ever been, mine.

* * *

Bedevilled

He hated himself. He couldn't believe what he was about to do, knew that it was wrong. He didn't care about right and wrong any more, though. His brother was dead. His brother was dead, and he had been left alone to carry on.

He didn't want to be alone. He'd felt alone his whole life. He was tired of being isolated, of never being understood, of wanting for something so badly and never quite being able to attain it.

He wanted his brother back. He wanted Dean.

That was why he was at the cemetery, knife hanging loosely from relaxed fingers, still tacky with the blood of the girl he'd killed to get it. He hoped that Dean was still there, still waiting for his freedom.

It had taken Sam longer than he'd thought it would to track down Ruby, even longer to actually kill the girl. She was tougher than she looked, that was for sure. In the end he'd been triumphant, though. In the end, he'd killed her with the same blade that had shed the blood of many demons since the first Devil's Gate had been opened.

Sam stared at the crumbling building in front of him. He still couldn't believe that he was there, couldn't believe that he could even consider what he was about to do. When the plan had first started to form in his mind, he'd been horrified. What was wrong with him? Didn't he realize that people could die? And for what? Dean. Of course.

Because no one else mattered.

At first, the older hunter had been against the plan and had fought tooth and nail to stop Sam from going through with it. But little brother was stubborn, and wouldn't be stopped. In the end, Dean had relented. He'd agreed to meet Sam at Stull Cemetery ten days after being taken, had agreed to try and make it to the door, to try and get out.

It was a brilliant plan. If their father could do it, why couldn't Dean? The only problem was that the Colt was no good as a key. They needed something else for this door.

Dean had died while Sam was tracking down Ruby and her little knife. He'd died alone. That was something Sam would never forgive himself for, because it really was unforgivable.

He glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. Midnight on the eleventh day after Dean's death. He hoped he wasn't too late.

Slowly, the hunter stepped up to the Gate, swiping at his eyes as he thought again of all of the innocent lives that could be lost. He slid the key in and turned it, taking his hand from the hilt and backing slowly away as the pentagram spun like a combination lock.

He didn't bother to duck behind a tombstone. He didn't want Dean to miss him. He just stood in the graveyard, hands in his pockets, and waited. The lock clicked. The door began to jiggle, the force of the shaking increasing steadily until the blade had fallen from its place.

Sam took another step back as the doors to Hell flew open and a black cloud of smoke rushed out at him. He stood his ground, searching the writhing black mass for a familiar face.

One tendril of smoke broke off from the herd as the protective Devil's Trap holding them all in shattered with the force of the hellish souls. It swirled around him, whispering his name with a deep, familiar voice before sliding back toward the door. Sammy smiled and followed it.

The cloud of smoke had pressed itself up against one of the doors and was starting to push it shut. "You cut right to the chase, don't you?" Sam asked, unable to keep the smile off his face. He leaned against the other door, battling against a few last-minute arrivals to close the Gate.

After what seemed an eternity, the lock clicked again. Sam slid down the door and gazed up at the starry sky. It had worked. He'd been right. He glanced at his brother, that smile returning to his face, his heart pounding with excitement, absolutely giddy as everything sank in. Dean was back. He was gonna be fine.

"Come on," Sam said, standing up and brushing himself off, "just like we planned." The cloud snuck toward him a bit, but still hung back, as if afraid to get any closer. "Dean. It's OK. Look, if it's not gonna be me, it's gonna have to be someone else. Neither of us wants to put someone through that. Just do it."

He braced himself as the cloud of smoke surged toward him, rushing at his face, forcing his mouth open, moving into him, invading him, _possessing _him. Sam closed his eyes against the familiar feeling, the feeling of loosing control, the one that had accompanied Meg.

This was different, though, as he'd hoped it would be. This wasn't cold and terrifying. It felt warm and right, like Dean just fit into his subconscious. It made sense, he supposed. After all, they'd grown up together, lived most of their lives together. They completed each other. Of course it wouldn't feel weird, wouldn't feel wrong. It was _Dean_.

His eyes snapped open and he gasped, feeling himself slipping farther into his mind, letting Dean look around, get a sense of his surroundings. That warmth rushed through his system again, accompanied by a sense of safety. Everything was going to be all right.

And then Dean was right beside him in his head, backing off, letting him have his body. "It's yours," he whispered, "take it."

"We could always share," Sam pointed out, surprised to hear himself speaking out loud, his voice echoing eerily in the empty graveyard. "I'll take Saturdays, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. You can take the rest."

"Wednesdays, huh?" Dean's voice whispered in his head, wrapping him in the comfort of familiarity, the love of family. He could feel his brother's smile playing across his own lips. "You're not gonna force me to watch 'America's Next Top Model,' now, are ya?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam said, realizing that if anyone was walking by, he would seem crazy, talking to himself in the middle of an abandoned cemetery. "You know, you weren't the only one that got out."

"Yeah. You have any idea how hard it is to make small talk with those things while waiting for the gates of Hell to open up? I swear, not one had a sense of humor."

Sam snorted and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You know what this means, though, right?" he asked, trudging out toward the Impala.

He felt Dean grin again, felt his brother's joy at approaching the car, the only thing that had ever really stayed constant in his life. "We've got work to do." He could feel the older man's shock at hearing the words spoken aloud.

Sam smiled, happy to sink back into himself and let Dean slide large hands over the hood of the car, savoring the way the metal felt so cool to the touch after over a week in the fires of Hell. The older man searched Sam's pockets for the keys, and, grinning broadly, pulled them out.

He unlocked the door and slid in behind the wheel, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Didja miss me, baby?" he cooed, turning the key in the ignition, loving the way the car roared to life. He leaned back in the seat and gazed into the rearview, into his brother's sparkling eyes, eyes that now looked haunted and tortured with a lifetime of hurt and abandonment, ten days in Hell. "So, who we gonna tell about this, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged, letting himself sink a little farther back, letting the feeling of his brother surround him, loving the closeness he felt to the man, the proximity. "No one, I guess. Who'd believe us, anyway?"

"Probably for the best," Dean reasoned, smiling as he felt Sam relax into him, felt them meld closer together as his brother settled in for the first good night's sleep he would have in a long time. "Wouldn't want to get exorcised, would we?"

That got Sam to perk back up. "No."

"Relax," Dean said quickly, scrabbling to regain control after hearing the fear in his brother's voice spoken aloud, "it's not gonna happen. I won't let it." He lowered his voice. "I'm not going back there. Not for a good, long time."

Sam nodded. "I'm gonna make sure of that."

Sighing, Dean put the car in gear and backed away from the cemetery. He glanced up at the sky, watching as one last cloud sailed off through the air, undoubtedly heading toward some unsuspecting town. Yeah. They had work to do.

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So, what do you think? Sorry it'll take me so long to maybe update. Reviews are appreciated :) 


	2. Two Months Later

Told you I'd keep going. Sorry it took so long, but life got in the way. I've finished the story, and you'll be happy to know that all the chapters are ready to be posted. There are gonna be 8 total. Some are short, some are long, all are good (I hope). Now, for your continued enjoyment... 'Bedevilled.'

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Two Months Later

They sat on a barstool, one pondering the way his life had turned out, how he'd never be normal, never have a house and a wife and a white picket fence and 2.5 kids; the other staring blankly into space, as he so often did these days, wondering if it was really worth it, if _he_ was worth it, the thousands of lives taken by others like him.

Both men were pulled from their thoughts by the leggy brunette that strutted past on her way to the bathroom. Naturally, Dean had been the first to notice. His eyes followed her path hungrily, taking everything in. At that point, nothing mattered but the things she could do for him, the things she could say, the love she could give. He was desperate for it.

He stood up, eagerly anticipating the night ahead. He took a step toward the restrooms, planning to pounce as she made her exit, and stopped. He stared into the mirror that hung behind the bar, looking straight at his little brother's reflection, and sat back down.

"Come on," Sam urged, his voice reverberating through their shared mind, "I know we've been over this. Have some fun."

Dean shook his head. "No way," he whispered, "it's sick."

"I won't look."

"That's not the problem," the older man replied, paying for his barely-touched beer, sliding off the stool, and heading out of the bar and into the crisp, chill air of the night, "it's just weird. It's wrong. It's not mine."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, ok, but judging by your reaction the first time my bladder was full, it's an upgrade."

"Not that, you sick pervert!" Dean practically shouted, attracting a few disapproving stares from the patrons hanging out in the parking lot. He lowered his voice. "The body. You have any idea how messed up this is?"

"I'm not the one who sold his soul."

"And I'm not the one who left a knife lying on the ground by a murderous psychopath."

"I trusted him," Sam defended, his voice echoing through the still night, causing the few drunken smokers to turn back to them as they made their way across the lot.

"And he stabbed you in the back."

"You really think this is a nice Sunday stroll for me? The things you think about… and you call _me_ a pervert!"

Dean sighed, shoving Sam's hands into Sam's pockets. "Look," he muttered under his breath as they stalked back to the nearby motel room, "let's just call a truce and admit that we both messed up before anyone calls the cops on the guy arguing with himself, ok?"

"Fine," Sam agreed reluctantly, sinking back into the depths of their shared home.

Streetlights flickered as the brothers passed under them, but they'd gotten used to that. Electrical shortages always seemed to take place in their general vicinity when Dean got worked up over something. In all honesty, neither of them really noticed that anything could have been off until the voice rang out behind them.

"I know what you are." It was a soft voice, but deadly, obviously belonging to a female. The brothers turned to see the leggy brunette from the bar they'd just left.

"Uh, I think you're mistaken, miss," Dean said, flashing a charming smile.

The woman shook her head. "No. I can tell. I could tell by the way you saw me and ran out. You're a hunter." Her eyes turned black.

"Name's Sam, actually," Dean replied, the response rolling off his tongue after two months of looking like his brother.

She nodded. "Winchester. I know." Before either brother could react, she had pulled a gun and fired off two shots into Sam's chest, a wicked smirk never leaving her face.

Dean staggered back a step as Sam gasped, both gazing down at the two holes in his chest. The pain only lasted an instant, just enough time for both brothers to realize what had happened.

Dean snapped his head up, gazing into her eyes with as much hatred as he could muster in his own deep pools of black. She seemed taken aback, even backed off a few paces. "You're…?"

"You shouldn't have done that," Dean growled, pulling the key to the second Devil's Gate from inside Sam's jacket and rushing at the possessed girl. He slit her throat, sending her crashing to the ground, convulsing and sparking as the demon inside died.

"Knew there was a reason we kept this," he muttered as he placed it carefully back inside the jacket and gazed down at the girl.

"She shot me," Sam whispered.

"Guess you're lucky I'm here, huh?" Dean asked, zipping up the jacket to hide the bleeding wounds, "come on. We gotta burn this bitch."


	3. Memories

Glad to see some people came back and are still enjoying the story. Wasn't sure if anyone would want to keep reading :)

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He always took charge at the salt and burns. Dean always let him. The older man would sprinkle the salt over the corpse, douse it in lighter fluid, would even throw the lighter or match onto the body, but after that, it was Sam's turn to be in control. He'd never mentioned it to Dean, never asked why his brother always seemed to slink back into the recess of their shared subconscious. Of course, they didn't really have any secrets anymore, so he didn't have to ask. He already knew.

Dean was afraid of the fire. At first, Sam had thought it was a result of his eleven days in Hell, but after a couple of hunts, a couple of burning corpses, he'd realized that it went much deeper than that. It went back to childhood.

Being possessed by someone so close to him really was an interesting experience. Where Meg had been able to keep Sam out of her mind, being older and all, Dean couldn't. If it was an acquired ability, he hadn't seemed to have worked it out yet. Or, he didn't want to. Either way, the older hunter was pretty much an open book.

It had taken Sammy a while to figure that out, to realize that he could sift through his brother's memories, thoughts, and emotions. He'd found out a lot, found out just how broken his brother really was.

He'd also seen his mother. The first time, the moment that he'd realized Dean couldn't keep his secret wants and memories to himself anymore, had been at their second salt and burn after opening the Gate. Dean had sunk back, a little farther than he had the first time, and Sam had felt fear rushing through him, along with a sense of loss. And then the images, flashes of a window belching smoke, a room consumed by fire, a squirming infant, and their mother, held to the ceiling, burning along with everything else.

It was at that moment that Sam got the answer to the question he'd always been too scared to ask. He knew what his brother had seen that night, knew how much he really remembered… and wanted to know more.

He'd decided to test out his new theory, the theory that they weren't just sharing a body, but also a mind, a consciousness, their lives and memories and desires. He'd waited for Dean to nod off, and he'd started searching. It was a little like digging around in an old trunk, trying to flip through his brother's memories and call up something specific. He'd settled on Wisconsin in the eighties, on the shtriga.

Sam knew for a fact that he couldn't remember the events of that hunt, the one that had changed the way his father looked at Dean, and that was exactly why he'd chosen it. He hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting, exactly, but it wasn't what he'd found.

It was fragmented, flashing through his mind, bits and pieces of memory. An arcade, a sleeping child, a hushed chanting, and fear so strong that he was sure it must have been what his brother had felt when staring down the witch. And then the fear grew stronger and he saw his father, saw disappointment, and knew what it must have been like.

He knew it was wrong to sort through his brother's personal memories, but couldn't help himself. Dean had always been so secretive. It was too tempting.

Sam had spent almost a week sorting through Dean's memories, each night heading back a little farther until he'd finally gotten to the place he'd always wanted to go: the years before their mother's death.

He was surprised at how clearly Dean had remembered everything, from holidays to every days, and had actually been a little jealous at first. Why should his brother get to know what it was like to have a mother, to be loved unconditionally, to be normal? His jealousy faded, however, once he realized what that meant, what Dean had had and lost and would never get back. Memories were all he had.

The younger man had vowed to stop after that, to let his brother have a little privacy, but it was still too tempting. The things he found out, the scenes that played like movies but sent waves of emotion through his being, they were too good to just leave alone.

Besides, there were some things he'd always wanted to know.

It had been while viewing one of these things that he'd been caught in the act. He'd been looking at the aftermath of his trip to Stanford, watching his father and brother get into an actual fistfight over whose fault it had been (though it couldn't be considered much of a fight, with Dean taking the punches and refusing to throw them back), when he'd felt another presence. He hadn't paid any attention at first. Having another soul in his body had kind of gotten him accustomed to the feeling of never really being alone. Only when Dean spoke up did Sam realize he was in trouble.

He'd stuttered an apology, had sworn never to do it again, had tried to explain, but Dean had cut him off. His brother had settled in beside him, watching the scene play out, and revealed that John had never apologized for the bruises or accusations. In fact, he'd been gone the next morning when Dean had woken up.

That had started an uncharacteristic bout of honesty between the brothers that still hadn't completely worn off. It worked for both of them. Dean had always been able to read his brother, so there wasn't really a change in that aspect, but Sam had been gaining insight on the older man steadily. What was better, Dean didn't even have to talk for Sammy to know what was going on in his head. It was just there.

So he let his brother back off while the fires burnt, the flames licking up out of shallow graves, illuminating the dark skies that they always seemed to hunt under.


	4. These Dreams

Sorry about the length of the chapter, guys, but it does move the story along a bit.

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"I got shot," Sam muttered, pulling the motel room key out of his pocket and unlocking the door. He crossed the room, unzipping his jacket and tossing it onto the single bed as he approached the mirror. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he pulled off his two other shirts. 

Two dark holes marred the skin on his chest, standing out tacky red against the tanned flesh. "Dean?" he asked, unable to take his eyes off the marks. They were positioned right over his heart.

"Relax," the elder whispered in his mind, "I know someone in Louisiana that can help. She's a healer. We'll head out tomorrow."

"But-"

"Look, as long as I'm here, you're fine. Possessed people can't die, remember?"

Sammy sighed, pulling his jeans off and heading for the bathroom and a nice warm shower to wash the stench of blood, sweat, and smoke off. "I guess."

"Good," Dean said, "now, I'm pretty sure you can manage this alone, so I'm gonna doze off, ok?"

"Sweet dreams," Sam remarked, instantly regretting the words. He could feel Dean's guilt, feel him slink back a little, embarrassed. "Look, I didn't mean-" he tried to fix it, but Dean wouldn't let him.

"It's ok. They'll pass… right?"

Sam nodded, turning on the faucet in the tub and letting the water warm up. "Yeah, sure." He didn't sound too convincing. The truth was, he was just as worried about the nightmares they'd been having since opening the second Gate as his brother was. It had been two months and they showed no signs of relenting.

He couldn't blame Dean for it. Two weeks in Hell would be enough to give anyone nightmares, but the fact that Sam was forced to live through them had become a sore spot. He maintained that he was fine with it, that he was used to bad dreams, but he couldn't stave off his brother's guilt for the sleepless nights.

In truth, he could understand why Dean was so reluctant to head back to that fiery pit. He'd been alone, completely surrounded by flames, forced to relive the worst moments of his life, and even some memories that hadn't been real. Every night, he went back there. Only this time, he wasn't alone.

They'd figured out how to make the dreams bearable after a couple of weeks. Just stick close together. Just make sure that both presences were known. Now it was a waiting game to see whether or not they would ever stop.

Shaking his head, Sam stepped into the shower.


	5. The Exorcist

OK, so first things first. Tennischik, you must be psychic.

Second: I'm sorry, but I have to say this. I'm still so high on squee that I can't keep it in!... So, did anyone go to the convention in Chicago this past weekend? I didn't, but I saw a video on the web of it and Jared mentioned a video that he's seen on Youtube. It's a Supernatural vversion of Charlie The Unicorn. He said he liked it. He laughed about how funny it is. Wanna know who made that? You're reading what she wrote :) And I was like: ... 0o DUDE, SERIOUSLY?!? BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!!!!!

And third: here's another chapter of the story.

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Head aching, Sam opened his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, feeling Dean coming to as well. He looked around, his head still spinning from whatever had happened to him. He was in a house, or a shack, or something. It looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.

The last thing he could remember, he and Dean had been heading out of their motel room, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, itching to get to Louisiana and Dean's healer friend. Then darkness.

He blinked again, trying to place the familiar location. Books sat around the floor, gathering dust, taking up space that could have been occupied by furniture. Fading pictures hung on the walls. Looking up, Sam could see a large, black symbol painted on the ceiling. He knew where he was.

"Bobby?" he called out, trying to get up off the chair he'd been placed in and finding that his hands had been tied to it. "Bobby!"

Footsteps creaked across old floorboards and Sam craned his neck back to try and see where they were coming from. To his surprise, Bobby Singer wasn't the one who walked into his field of vision.

"Good to see you're up," Ellen Harvelle smiled.

"Ellen," Sam asked, "what am I doing here?"

"What do you think you're doing here?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I'm not sure. I was walking out of my motel room and then I guess I passed out. Thanks for finding me."

"You're welcome," Bobby said, stepping into the room to stand beside her. "But that's not why you're here."

"Why, then?" Sam asked, a sense of dread settling in his chest.

"I think you know."

Sammy shook his head. "Nope. Pretty sure I don't. Why am I tied up?"

"A second Devil's Gate was opened," Ellen explained calmly, "In Lawrence."

"Ok?"

"Bobby and I have been hunting down all the escapees. A couple of weeks ago we were exorcising a ten-year-old girl in Massachusetts when the demon let something slip. It told us who opened the Gate, Sam."

"Ok. But that doesn't explain why I'm tied to a chair under a Devil's Trap."

Bobby stepped forward, flipping open a small book and searching the pages. "We know you, Sam," he said, "and you wouldn'ta done something like that. There was only one explanation that we could see."

"No," Sam whispered, sinking back into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Going back to Lawrence," Ellen explained, "opening the Gate, killing that girl to get the key. It's not like you."

Sammy shook his head. He needed to get out, to get Dean out. The older man had been quiet since waking up under the Trap, but Sam could still feel him, could feel the fear, the certainty that he was heading back down to Hell before he'd like to. "No," he tried again, willing them to understand.

"You'd just lost your brother," Bobby added, apparently finding what he'd been looking for in the book, "all that emotion woulda left you pretty vulnerable."

"I'm still me," Sam argued, "demons lie."

"Better safe that sorry." He started to read.

Sam bowed his head, clenching his teeth and squeezing the arms of the chair, trying to hold on to something that was no longer corporeal, trying to save his brother from a fate worse than death. Pain ripped through his body, but he tried to ignore it. He _had_ to ignore it. He couldn't let go.

He felt his head snap to one side, a spasm racketing through his body. "Please," he whispered as he felt his brother start to slip away, "please, you can't." Bobby kept reading. "You can't! I'm not gonna lose him again."

The Latin recitation stopped. The room fell deathly quiet. Sam let himself relax, panting, slowly releasing his death-grip on the chair.

"What did you say?" Ellen asked, stepping closer and staring at him with untrusting eyes.

Sam weakly raised his head and met her gaze. "You can't make him leave again," he whispered, "I don't wanna be alone."

The older hunters glanced at each other, beginning to doubt their motives. "Who?" she asked, her voice softer as she knelt down in front of him, "who is it?"

The younger man let his head fall, his chin resting against his chest. "It's Dean," he breathed.

Ellen nodded, getting to her feet and backing away, glancing at Bobby. "Is that even possible?" she whispered.

Bobby shrugged. "It would make sense. It would explain why nobody was with the corpse-"

Sam's head snapped up. "You found him?"

Both hunters turned to look at him. "In a motel room," Ellen nodded, "we'd been looking for you and traced his cell phone. We didn't want you to be alone. You weren't there with him?"

"I left… I had to find Ruby. Was he…?"

Bobby hung his head. "Sam, you don't want to know."

"You believe me, though?" Sammy asked, letting his head loll back down, "that it's Dean? Please?"

"He told you this?" Ellen asked.

"I just know. It's him."

"You said it yourself. Demons lie." She turned to Bobby, who hesitated for a split second before beginning to read again. Sam's body rocked with another spasm as Dean tried to hold on. He could feel his brother slipping away, being pulled from him again, and it was all his fault. He'd let all those demons see him in Lawrence. Why hadn't he hidden his face? Why had he just stood out in the open and let them all pass? Why hadn't he realized this could happen?

Suddenly, against his will, his head snapped up. Dean turned cold, dark eyes on Bobby. "Stop!" he yelled, sending Sam's voice reverberating through the small room. Both hunters started and again the house fell silent. They stared at him. "You'll kill him."

"What?" Bobby asked.

"You'll kill him," Dean said slowly, carefully enunciating every word for maximum effect. "A demon shot us yesterday."

"_Us?_" Ellen asked.

He turned black eyes to her. "Yeah. _Us_. Me and Sammy. She recognized him."

"A demon attacked you?" Bobby questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"No, actually, she invited us back to her place for tea and crumpets. Why else would I tell you we'd been shot?"

"Why would she attack her own kind?"

Dean flinched as soon as the words had left Bobby's mouth. "I'm not like them," he hissed, turning back to the older man, "and she didn't know. She recognized Sam as a hunter and thought she'd take him out, so she shot him. Twice."

"Where?" Ellen asked.

"Heart. Needless to say, she wasn't expecting us to fight back. We salted and burnt her host about a mile outside of town. We killed the demon."

"If she shot him in the heart…"

"You exorcise me and he dies," Dean nodded, "yeah. We know."

"You could be lying," Bobby pointed out.

"I could be. But you can check." He nodded toward his chest. Bobby walked forward, stepping into the circle, and ripped Sam's shirt open, revealing two perfect holes over his heart. Ellen put her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. "We were heading to Louisiana," Dean continued, "I know a woman there who can help. She's a healer. Didn't want to risk Sam's life in case something like this ever happened."

Ellen nodded. "As long as you're here, he can't die."

"Yahtzee."

"How do we know you're who you say you are?" Bobby asked, backing out of the circle and staring at the brothers.

"You don't. But would a demon care this much?"

"A smart one would," he pointed out.

"I just want to help my brother."

"Then we'll take you. We'll drive you to this healer, let her save Sam, and then we'll finish this."

Dean looked down at his feet, letting his shoulders slump. "You really gonna send me back there?" He looked back up, his eyes clear and green, shining brightly, working Sam's puppy-dog face to perfection.

Bobby closed the book. "Yeah. We are."


	6. Hatred

Ok. Sorry this chapter's so short, but I think it accomplishes what I needed it to. Enjoy :)

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Sam had decided that he hated both chairs and ropes. He also hated black spray paint and the things that certain hunters could create with it. He and Dean were tied up again, sitting under another Trap, with Ellen, Bobby, and Giselle, the healer, staring at them.

"Let me get this straight," Giselle said softly, her eyes roving over Sam's bound form, "he's possessed by a demon claiming to be his brother, but you don't believe it, so you want to exorcise it, and the only way to safely do that is to heal the host?"

"That's pretty much it," Ellen nodded. "Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it. But what if it's telling the truth?"

"It's not. Dean Winchester is locked in Hell."

"But if what you say is true-"

"He would never agree to anything like that."

"But-"

"Just do it."

Giselle nodded and walked into the trap. "I'm sorry," she whispered, bending down and placing her hands over the open wounds. She lowered her head and began to chant under her breath. Sam struggled to pull away, knowing that only the two bullet holes in his heart were keeping Dean from being ripped from him once again. He was tied tight to the chair, though, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't get free.

Warmth spread through his system as panic overtook him. He'd tried too hard, risked too many lives to lose his brother now.

"Relax," he heard Dean say softly, "I've got a plan. Just promise not to freak on me. I'm not going anywhere."

He was about to question his brother, to try and sift through his thoughts for the supposed plan, but didn't have time. Giselle stood and backed away.

"He'll be fine," she announced, "it's safe now."

Bobby nodded and opened his book, beginning to read. Suddenly, Sam's head snapped back, his mouth flying open to release a cloud of dense, black smoke that hit the ceiling hard, breaking the symbol, before swirling out an open window. Sam's body went slack in the chair.

Ellen and Bobby looked at each other. "Did you finish…?" Ellen asked. Bobby shook his head. Sam looked up at them both, revulsion rising up within him. He hated them. He hated them with a passion.


	7. Two Weeks Later

So, does anyone want to know what happens next? Trust me, this one's good and long, so enjoy :)

* * *

Two Weeks Later

Sam sat on a barstool, all by himself, yet not alone. He could feel their eyes on him, watching him, waiting for Dean to return, making sure that he couldn't.

Since Bobby hadn't finished the exorcism, the two older hunters had decided that Dean was still out there, just waiting for a chance to get back inside of Sam. They'd offered him protective charms, spells, whatever else there was in the world, but he hadn't accepted them. He just wanted to be alone. He wanted his brother.

He could tell that they were confused, that they didn't understand. He didn't expect them to. He just wished they would leave, let him be, stop guarding him, watching him, trying to keep him safe.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and Sam turned. An old man smiled at him. The guy must've been over ninety years old, was hunched over at a painful angle, and had eyes as black as a starless sky.

"Dean?" Sam gasped.

The man opened his mouth the reply when two sets of hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him roughly away. It took Sam a minute to realize what had happened, to fully explain it to himself. Dean had come back to him, Bobby and Ellen had somehow discovered him, and now they were taking him out back to put him down for good.

Sam jumped up and ran out the door after them. He stumbled into the parking lot and gazed around, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and followed it, running around to the back of the bar in time to see Bobby leveling the Colt at the old man's chest.

He tried to stop the older hunter, to run between him and his brother, but Ellen grabbed him and held him back until after the shot had gone off and the stench of gunpowder filled the air.

She took her arms from the younger man and he collapsed to his knees in the dirt. "That wasn't your brother," she hissed, trying to make him understand what she and Bobby had believed since they'd learned the truth about who'd opened the second Gate.

Sam looked up at her with pure loathing in his eyes. "Just leave me alone," he growled, "he's gone. You can leave now. So go."

Hanging her head and shoving her hands into her pockets, the older woman walked back around the bar, apparently to the parking lot. Bobby stowed the Colt safely back into his jacket and walked up to Sam.

"I'll leave," he said, "but not until I know you're not gonna do anything stupid."

"What can I do?" Sam demanded, "you killed him. For good. There's nothing to bring back."

"It wasn't Dean."

"You don't know that. You didn't hear him, didn't see what I saw, didn't feel it. It was Dean."

Bobby sighed. "I need to burn the body, Sam. Ellen went to get the lighter fluid and salt. We'll leave after that."

Sammy nodded. "Good. Stay gone." He struggled to his feet and staggered back into the bar. He slumped back into the same old stool and signaled the bartender over.

"What's wrong, honey?" she asked him, leaning across the bar and staring with pitying eyes.

"People I thought were my friends just killed my brother," he muttered, "that's what's wrong."

The woman smiled sympathetically, her deep blue eyes softening. She reached out and took his hand in hers. "Now, you don't know that for sure."

"Yeah. I do. They killed my brother."

"They didn't," the bartender said, smiling sweetly, "they killed Joey."

He looked up at her. "What?"

She nodded. "I tipped him off about the Gate. He said he owed me. I offered him a way out of this parasitic existence. He always said he'd rather be dead than a demon." Her smile widened. "He sold his soul to save his daughter, Sammy."

Sam felt his eyes go wide. "Dean?" he whispered, throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder at the door.

The woman leaned farther across the bar until she was so close that he could feel her breath on his face. Her eyes turned black as a starless sky. "Told you I wasn't going anywhere."

Sam nearly fell off his stool. "How?"

"I told you, I phoned in a favor. Joey was happy to help."

"But, an innocent person-"

"First, it was an old guy. He woulda kicked it in a week, anyway. Second, that old guy was from the prison ward of the geriatric wing. He tried to blow up a school when he was fifty. Not exactly innocent."

Sam glanced back at the door. "But what if-?"

"He told them he was me," Dean explained, "perfect plan, huh?"

"Yeah, but how-?"

"Close your eyes."

Sam did as he was told, letting his eyes slide shut. He felt the bar tender's lips press against his own, felt her force his mouth open. She exhaled, and something soft and warm slid into his mouth, something that never quite hit his throat, but curled around his mind, sinking into his subconscious, fitting into the space left by the exorcism.

His eyes snapped open, and in the mirror that sat behind the bar he saw deep pools of black. He blinked and they were gone.

The girl pulled away from him, confusion written plainly on her pretty face. "What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing," Sam smiled, digging in his pocket and pulling out a crumpled five dollar bill. He set it on the bar. "Thanks." He stood up and headed calmly out the door. Bobby's car was no longer in the parking lot.

Smiling to himself, Sam approached the Impala, slipping back into his mind, as he'd gotten so used to doing in the past two months, as he dug for the keys. Dean pulled them out and opened up the car door, sliding in behind the wheel.

"Gotta be careful from now on," he said as he closed the door.

"Not so much," Sam said, "Bobby and Ellen can vouch for us. They think I'm demon-free, remember? Besides, we can't lay low. We've gotta go after everything we let out. We've-"

"Sam, if you say we've got work to do-"

The younger man grinned, an expression that somehow made it to the surface and spread across his face. "We've got work to do." Dean rolled his eyes, started the car, and drove off into the night.


	8. Epilogue: Five Years Later

The final chapter, guys. Can you believe it? Well, I really hoped you guys liked the story. There's relaly not much more to say except thanks for reading :)

* * *

Five Years Later

He hated exorcisms. He hated what they meant, what they could do. He hated Bela for finally stepping up and joining the proper hunting community, for realizing that there was something wrong with the last Winchester standing, for telling Ellen, who had joined her in this little escapade. He hated them for bringing holy water. He hated them for tying him to a chair. Again.

He loved that it had taken them so long, though. He hated to admit it, but, secretly, he'd been expecting something like this. Fortunately, Sam Winchester, Geekboy Extraordinaire, had done his homework in the five years since the last attempt on Dean's soul. He'd found out some pretty interesting things in that time.

He'd concocted a plan, and plan that would keep the Winchester brothers together forever. Of course, he'd known how Dean would react, knew it would be similar to the reaction he'd gotten to the plan that had thrown them into this mess of possessions and exorcisms in the first place, but he couldn't hide it. They were practically one mind now, inseparable. They'd grown so close over the years that he wasn't even sure he could live without his brother there, sometimes in the back of his mind, sometimes in the front.

Dean hadn't liked the plan, had fought tooth and nail against it, but Sammy was stubborn. Just like before, Dean had given in to what little brother wanted.

"I said, do you like that?" Bela demanded, grabbing a handful of Sam's hair and wrenching his head back at a painful angle.

"I'd like it a lot more if you'd dump the fake accent, love," Dean snarked back, doing a better impersonation of a British accent than Sam had every imagined could come out of his own mouth.

She snarled at him, splashing his face with more holy water before Ellen could pull her back, eliciting a shriek of rage and pain from the man tied in the chair.

"That's enough," the older woman cautioned the newer hunter, "you don't want to kill him."

Sam felt his brother recoil, heard the thoughts rushing through his mind, saw the brief flashes of memories: fire, brimstone, sulfur, a fate worse than death. He felt his head snap back, his mouth open, but he fought his way to the front of his mind, fought for control, and stopped his brother from escaping into the night again.

"I know what I'm doing," he insisted, drawing odd stares from the hunters in the room.

"You have no idea-" Dean began.

"You're not going back there alone."

"We can fake it again. I can get someone else-"

"They won't let me go so easily this time. It's our only choice."

Bela narrowed her eyes at them. "You're right. I don't want to kill him. I want to save him." She pulled a slim book, a newer-looking diary from her pocket and opened it to a marked page. Grinning at the brothers, she began to read.

He didn't struggle against it this time. Instead, he wrapped himself firmly around his brother, hanging onto the older man's mind with all his effort. He felt an odd pressure, like a slight headache, a mild brain freeze, and knew that Dean was doing the same. As much as he claimed to hate the plan, he knew it was the only way.

Sam's head snapped back, his mouth flying open as Bela finished the exorcism. Two billows of smoke, one black and one white, flew into the air, twisting around each other, connected by a force so powerful that no incantation or good intention could tear them apart. They spun together, melting into each other, up into the ceiling and down into the pits of Hell.

Sam's lifeless body slumped forward in the chair, the ropes the only thing keeping him upright. Ellen and Bela tore their eyes from the Devil's Trap on the ceiling, glancing first at Sam's corpse, then at each other.

"What was that?" Bela asked, her voice shaking.

"That was two souls," Ellen explained, "bonded as one."

"I killed him?" the younger woman whispered.

"No. You sent them both to Hell."

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The End.

So, any last opinions?


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